[merlin] never bitter and all delicious {uther/morgana} english
Fandom: Merlin
Title: never bitter and all delicious
Characters: Morgana, Uther [Merlin appearence] Uther/Morgana [hints of other]
Rating: PG15 | suggested dub-con though it doesn't need to be read like that, because it wasn't actually thought like that lol
Warnings: minor!SPOILERS FOR 2x03.
Word Count: 799
Summary: If she was to be discovered, what would he make of her? What would it take to make her pay? On day, another day... /fail summary is fail
Notes: For zauberer_sirin prompt: chains @ VAGINA FEST: ROUND TWO | Title comes from The Pierces' song: Three Wishes.
It takes four men, fourteen minutes and no-Merlin around to take her down.
It takes a little spell to put her behind bars.
This is not what she was expecting really, especially from Uther. Death, sure. Torture, maybe. Silence, definitely not. She sits in the dark corner of the dungeon (she isn’t allowed to move much forward anyway -chains in her wrists, chains in her ankles) and looks at the ceiling (what the poor light lets her see). She dreams of the sky and being free. Soon she forgets day and night and just waits.
One day (morning, afternoon, night, she can’t be sure) the door opens.
One day Uther stands on the frame of the metal door that keeps her apart.
One day the door closes again.
Perhaps she isn’t waiting for his touch; perhaps she is a bit too away to even care he is there. Perhaps.
She flinches anyway, gloved hand on her chin. Magic, Morgana? Magic?
She wants to spit to him, but she has no saliva left (too many days without food or water) to share with him. She stays still, waiting to bite his hand when it’s at reach. (tired, she feels too tired to move).
Magic, Morgana, Magic? She hears him repeat, and his hand moving away from her mouth, following the line of her neck. Soon she’s not only starving but fighting for air.
She struggles against her chains. (Tight; because he would do so). When he lets her go, it’s not to let her be, his hands hits her cheek as fast as it leaves her neck, and she falls to the floor.
Why? Morgana, why?
Shaking on the floor she feels him leave. Perhaps she is wishing it (maybe, silence is worse).
Merlin sneaks once. Food and all. She tries to smile and fails. (It’ll be alright, Morgana, I’ll take you out, I will, he says. She knows better).
Sometimes she can tell it is night, her dreams come to her, her magic comes to her heart and it beats.
Sometimes it’s almost as being alive. However, she can’t move, iron burns into her wrists and ankles. (And yet, it’s still silent).
She is disappointed every time it’s Merlin (though, now, in her state, she can’t figure out why). She lets him take care of her, she doesn’t speak, she doesn’t hear, she is just there.
One day, another day, the door opens for the King. She finally feels awake. She manages to open her eyes, light comes from the fire torches the guards keep outside and it hurts her irises. She doesn’t stop (There’s Uther in front of her, all mighty Uther).
He closes the distances and kneels by her side. I’m sorry, my child. (Somehow, she doubts he is apologizing for this). He cups her chin in one hand, while with the other he tightens her chains (she notices this time, she is waiting for it, perhaps). He pressures her cheeks and she lightly opens her lips.
You should have obeyed, my child.. Why would… why… she knows he talks to himself, but she hears him anyway. (Because she’s been waiting, in the limbo of night and day). You should have.
She can smell the King, so close, and she feels like choking (his hand hasn’t moved, but it’s almost as if it had). She needs water, she needs something. And he gives her so.
His mouth on her tastes like power and dust, but it’s wet, so wet that she almost feels she could talk. She clings to it, tongues that fight. She is looking for the liquid that has been forbidden (he is looking for something she can’t quite get).
Everything is uncomfortable, from the way her body wants to fall backwards to the chains that won’t let her go closer to him.
(Except, everything feels right)
His hands are no longer in her face, his hands are everywhere. She remains fighting against her chains, trying to reach, but never quite.
I’m so sorry, he says. (Only then, her dress torn, her body hurt, her strength limited and forgotten, she learns -because he would teach her- how to cry).
She wakes in red and light, and voices all over her head. She thinks she is dreaming (like sometimes she does, of woods and freedom, of Mordred and Aglain, of the druids and their sweet unpronounced voices).
She wakes the day she’ll die.
It takes a bit more of four men, and fifteen minutes to break her. (Or a month -who really knows how long- in the dungeons, or no food and no hope, or a King and his hate -or not).
It takes magic spells and servants nobody cares to save her now.
(But maybe she was already safe; but maybe she was already dead.)
Title: never bitter and all delicious
Characters: Morgana, Uther [Merlin appearence] Uther/Morgana [hints of other]
Rating: PG15 | suggested dub-con though it doesn't need to be read like that, because it wasn't actually thought like that lol
Warnings: minor!SPOILERS FOR 2x03.
Word Count: 799
Summary: If she was to be discovered, what would he make of her? What would it take to make her pay? On day, another day... /fail summary is fail
Notes: For zauberer_sirin prompt: chains @ VAGINA FEST: ROUND TWO | Title comes from The Pierces' song: Three Wishes.
It takes four men, fourteen minutes and no-Merlin around to take her down.
It takes a little spell to put her behind bars.
This is not what she was expecting really, especially from Uther. Death, sure. Torture, maybe. Silence, definitely not. She sits in the dark corner of the dungeon (she isn’t allowed to move much forward anyway -chains in her wrists, chains in her ankles) and looks at the ceiling (what the poor light lets her see). She dreams of the sky and being free. Soon she forgets day and night and just waits.
One day (morning, afternoon, night, she can’t be sure) the door opens.
One day Uther stands on the frame of the metal door that keeps her apart.
One day the door closes again.
Perhaps she isn’t waiting for his touch; perhaps she is a bit too away to even care he is there. Perhaps.
She flinches anyway, gloved hand on her chin. Magic, Morgana? Magic?
She wants to spit to him, but she has no saliva left (too many days without food or water) to share with him. She stays still, waiting to bite his hand when it’s at reach. (tired, she feels too tired to move).
Magic, Morgana, Magic? She hears him repeat, and his hand moving away from her mouth, following the line of her neck. Soon she’s not only starving but fighting for air.
She struggles against her chains. (Tight; because he would do so). When he lets her go, it’s not to let her be, his hands hits her cheek as fast as it leaves her neck, and she falls to the floor.
Why? Morgana, why?
Shaking on the floor she feels him leave. Perhaps she is wishing it (maybe, silence is worse).
Merlin sneaks once. Food and all. She tries to smile and fails. (It’ll be alright, Morgana, I’ll take you out, I will, he says. She knows better).
Sometimes she can tell it is night, her dreams come to her, her magic comes to her heart and it beats.
Sometimes it’s almost as being alive. However, she can’t move, iron burns into her wrists and ankles. (And yet, it’s still silent).
She is disappointed every time it’s Merlin (though, now, in her state, she can’t figure out why). She lets him take care of her, she doesn’t speak, she doesn’t hear, she is just there.
One day, another day, the door opens for the King. She finally feels awake. She manages to open her eyes, light comes from the fire torches the guards keep outside and it hurts her irises. She doesn’t stop (There’s Uther in front of her, all mighty Uther).
He closes the distances and kneels by her side. I’m sorry, my child. (Somehow, she doubts he is apologizing for this). He cups her chin in one hand, while with the other he tightens her chains (she notices this time, she is waiting for it, perhaps). He pressures her cheeks and she lightly opens her lips.
You should have obeyed, my child.. Why would… why… she knows he talks to himself, but she hears him anyway. (Because she’s been waiting, in the limbo of night and day). You should have.
She can smell the King, so close, and she feels like choking (his hand hasn’t moved, but it’s almost as if it had). She needs water, she needs something. And he gives her so.
His mouth on her tastes like power and dust, but it’s wet, so wet that she almost feels she could talk. She clings to it, tongues that fight. She is looking for the liquid that has been forbidden (he is looking for something she can’t quite get).
Everything is uncomfortable, from the way her body wants to fall backwards to the chains that won’t let her go closer to him.
(Except, everything feels right)
His hands are no longer in her face, his hands are everywhere. She remains fighting against her chains, trying to reach, but never quite.
I’m so sorry, he says. (Only then, her dress torn, her body hurt, her strength limited and forgotten, she learns -because he would teach her- how to cry).
She wakes in red and light, and voices all over her head. She thinks she is dreaming (like sometimes she does, of woods and freedom, of Mordred and Aglain, of the druids and their sweet unpronounced voices).
She wakes the day she’ll die.
It takes a bit more of four men, and fifteen minutes to break her. (Or a month -who really knows how long- in the dungeons, or no food and no hope, or a King and his hate -or not).
It takes magic spells and servants nobody cares to save her now.
(But maybe she was already safe; but maybe she was already dead.)